


no pressure

by kenopsia (indie)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Affectionate friction, But also sort of PWP, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, kissing with a full bladder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:59:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6628276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indie/pseuds/kenopsia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Ariadne and Yusuf make out. A spiritual sequel to <i>start the clock</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no pressure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevenimpossiblethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenimpossiblethings/gifts).



Ariadne'd had a water bottle and a very tall glass of lemonade since she and Yusuf left school, because the sun was out and they’d stopped at the Wawa by the school to get a drink.

“I just don’t think she should be allowed to waste so much time doing housekeeping and deadlines and then try to keep us past the bell`,” she says, like she’s said about a hundred times before, and poor Yusuf who falls into hierarchy easily and never expresses discomfort with authority after he’s deemed them credibly knowledgeable, makes a sympathetic face, which is all she wants, really.

(This is why she can’t start over from scratch, with a boy who might argue with her about the actual inconvenience of three minutes, or jump to _solutions._ She shudders just thinking about it.)

By the time they’re at the front door, they aren’t holding hands, because Ariadne gets antsy with that kind of prolonged behavior -- she’s got a short stride and she gets distracted, being hand in hand makes her feel like she’s trying to keep up -- but she’s holding onto the dangling strap of his backpack to connect the two of them.

He usually moves on to his house after he walks her home, especially lately, because he’s got applications to fill out, seemingly endless rounds of them. Ari stopped after she got into NMU, but he’s different. It gives him some kind of thrill to get into far more schools than he could reasonably consider attending, like his whole personality (which he always says _has done him no favors_ through high school so far) is finally paying off.

He goes to kiss her goodbye, as always, on her doorstep. As is often the case, one kiss turns into a second, and then a third, smiling closed-mouthed kisses. “Alright, alright,” he says against her mouth. “I should be on my way.”

“Okay,” she says back, tilting up to receive one last kiss from him. He obliges, curling his arms around the small of her back and pulling her flush against her. Her stomach presses against the waistband of his jeans, pressed close and “What the,” she says, unbidden, as her eyes fly open, as something cuts through her, hot. Her heart is instantly pounding.

Yusuf pulls his face back, concerned. “What?”

Ariadne isn’t sure. She tries, as subtly as possible, to press herself a few millimeters closer to him again, and there it is. She can feel the heat pooling in her face, among other places.

“Are you okay?” Yusuf says.

There’s no way Ariadne can think of to say _I super have to pee or I’m really turned on. Both, maybe?_ It’s obviously weird and completely unsexy.

Her hand is still planted palm down on his shoulder. “I just think. Maybe you want to come in for a snack?”

Yusuf honest-to-God looks at his watch. “I promise you can get some apps done,” she huffs. He still looks unsure, so she goes on, “and I promise to do my chemistry homework.” At which point he puts his watch down.

It’s not like she doesn’t know what he's thinking. Yusuf is funny, in an understated way. Solid. A good friend. He’s also a little tense. She’d have to be stupid not to realize that he doesn't come in when he walks her home, preferring to get right to his homework at his own and coming back later, when her parents are home from work.

Since they were best friends before he became her boyfriend, they might as well keep up the track record of good interpersonal emotional honesty. “Come make out with me for a little bit and I promise not to have sex with you.”

Yusuf is too dark for obvious blushing, but she knows she’s hit the mark. “I don’t _not_ want to have sex with you,” he says.

“That’s your business until you make it my business,” Ariadne says, climbing onto her couch and reclining back on her elbows. She has some suspicions, because it’s been a few months since they’ve been together and she knew him well, even before that. There  a lot of religious ideas he’s not sure if he believes in, in the awkward limbo between faith and no faith, and she knows it’s easier to not think about it when he’s _coincidentally_ falling into line. “But I’d still like to get kissed.”

“Alright,” he says, licking his bottom lip nervously, but makes no moved towards her.

“I can put on Jeopardy,” she teases.

“Come off it,” he says, finally joining her. “Sit up.”

“I was kind of hoping you’d lay down,” she says, trying to be coy. She knows that Yusuf is attracted to her on some level, they probably wouldn’t be dating if he didn't find her visually appealing at all, but she tends to get called _cute_ when she's aiming to exude raw sex appeal. She thinks about that as she looks up at him through her eyelashes.

Yusuf visibly swallows. “Okay,” he says. He moves carefully, like she's the one that might spook.

“We really could put on the history channel,” she says, starting to feel unsure. She's had a high school education full of sex ed talks that basically amounted to _don't let boys pressure you into doing things_ but no one has ever given her the other end of that lecture. She suddenly feels like she's overstepping.

“No. I want to,” he says. “But you were right about the other thing.”

Ariadne’s heart starts surging again as Yusuf moves slowly, bracketing her with his arms on the couch of her living room, supporting himself with one knee on the outside of her hip. He holds his body this distance away from her while he dips his head down meet her lips.

She closes her eyes in anticipation.

“You know the history channel is overrun by alien conspiracy theories and that I find it weirdly racist to find alien intervention more plausible than the actual fact that pre-industrialized man had a good handle on select concepts of physics.”

“Oh baby,” Ariadne laughs, and he finally closes the gap to kiss her.

She likes the way he kisses. It’s intimate and calm, unpresumptuous, and more often than not, he pulls back to grin at her, like he’s so happy to be kissing _her,_ specifically, and just wants to look at her.

Which is fun, lovely, she loves it. _But._ She’s made a fucking discovery here and she just wants him to “ — get down here,” she insists.

Yusuf lowers himself down, hips against hers, only supporting himself on one elbow to keep his head up, and Ariadne _fucking sees stars._ “Unf,” she says.

“Sorry,” Yusuf says, and she can feel him flex, ready to move.

“No,” she says, gripping his shoulders. “Please.” She sounds more breathless than she’d like, but then Yusuf’s eyes go liquid in a devastating way, and she feels a twitch in his pants, still flush against her hips and she guesses there’s probably something cooler than turning on your stoic boyfriend but she’s drawing a blank right now.

So they go back to kissing, and he squashes her a little, and somehow her full bladder between them is making this pretty much the best makeout she’s ever had, ten out of ten, would do again. Every time he tilts, her vision blacks out and she has to drag in a ragged breath through her mouth. “Oh god,” she groans, arching up into him, and there it is again, she knows she’s completely soaked and who would have known? She had no idea.

*

“You’re,” Yusuf says, a little breathless, at some point. Did she unbutton her own plaid shirt? Because somehow it’s hanging open at her sides, and her tank top is pulling down. When she looks down at herself, she can see the top of her own bra.

“I’m what,” she says. Yusuf’s mouth is very red, and his hair is the the kind of disarray she likes best.

“I don’t know what I was going to say. You just keep making this noise and I can’t fucking think,” Yusuf says, closing his eyes.

“Do you want to stop?”

“You don’t,” Yusuf says, but that’s not an answer.

“You’re lovely,” she says, coming up on her elbows, and even the abdomen flex that came with that pseudo-crunch gives her a pleasant shiver.  “But if you don’t want to go any further, we won’t.”

“What do you want?”

“Just to get off, I guess,” she says, amused. “When you go home, maybe I’ll get to that.” It used to be that Ari joked about masturbating all the time, because she used to like giving boys a shock and then she just fell into the habit of being brash, but she hasn’t since things with Yusuf turned romantic.  

Yusuf’s eyes are already all-pupil. “Oh? Do you want to….”

“While you’re here?” she says, feeling a little shocked, but then finds herself really, _really_ receptive to the idea in short order.

He ducks his head into his collar. “Not if it would make you uncomfortable.”

“Let’s move to my room,” she says. She reaches up and discovers that her hair is. Well, there’s no fixing it right now.

*

It’s only fair to warn him. “I have this general policy,” she says.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she says, trying to get comfortable again. She’s got residual thrumming arousal with fresh nerves. Her fingertips tingle pleasantly like two shots on a rooftop garden party. “Like. The rule I’ve got for me is, if I can’t make it to the finish line in thirty minutes, I don’t find that a productive use of time and give up.”

Yusuf perks up, and his face makes this expression that Ariadne can only describe as _scientific inquiry._ Fucking Yusuf. If he wasn’t so fucking great she’d flick him off. “Is that common for you?”

She shrugs. “Sometimes. I'm not great at my body. Today, I don’t think it will be.”

Yusuf kisses the corner of her mouth. “No?”

“No,” she confirms, and pulls him into a kiss that turns into a string of looping kisses, like he’s encoding her into his rote memory the same way he traces formulas.

“Anything interesting in particular?” he asks, like he's trying to isolate the variables. 

“My boyfriend is so hot,” she says, and he grins a little. “And this other thing.”

“What other thing?” he says. She likes this, too. They don’t stop talking to kiss, or stop kissing to talk. They just slide together seamlessly, like bilingual people slipping between languages in search of the right word.

“I found out that. Um. This is weird. I found out a weird thing, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Yusuf, of course, is at top-notch interest now. “Tell me,” he says, his voice low. Ariadne squirms back against her own pillows.

She unhooks her own jeans in hopes of distracting him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of her face. She’d be impressed if she didn’t feel so embarrassed.

“I had that Big Gulp on the way here.”

Yusuf knows everything. It’s not like she has to elaborate. His eyes dart down to the curve of her stomach. “Oh,” he says.

He moves next to her, laying on his side beside her while he leans back to kiss her again. And again. And again. And then, at some point, his palm sits halfway between her hipbones but he doesn’t press down, his pinky parallel to the top of her panties and she keeps waiting for it, and she can feel herself just getting wetter with anticipation but he never _presses,_ and fuck, she can’t even _think._

He doesn’t, but she flexes a few times, the abdominal squeeze making her shudder and he’s just fascinated. He’s kissing her and she’s reaching town to tentatively touch herself under her waistband — it’s not the most she’s done with a guy before but it’s the most she’s done with _him_ and somehow it’s just all so electric — and he moves his hand a bit to let her through, and she presses a thumb against her own clit, just a little bit of pressure and he moves down to kiss at her neck, tongue bumping against her pulse like well-timed banter.

She arches her neck back, thrashing a little, and she’s not even thinking about the tangles she’s undoubtedly created, because right at that moment, Yusuf curls his hand into a fist and gives her one quick press with his knuckles right against her bladder and she just fucking _loses it,_ coming harder than she ever has in her life, and she kicks out with one leg and scrabbles at him with the hand that isn’t a little occupied and just, “Motherfucker,” she gasps.

“Not good?” Yusuf teases.

She curls into him to pant open-mouthed into his shirt. “I literally... ”

“Literally?”

“I have no idea,” she mumbles. “I can’t feel my face or my brain.”

He cards his hand through her hair. “That was probably the best orgasm of my life,” he says.

“That was _my_ orgasm,” Ariadne says, and knows she’s flushed pink. “I should probably put my pants back on.”

She doesn’t move, though. After a minute, she has a thought. “You sure there isn’t something I can do for you?”

“No,” he says, a little ruefully. “I’m just going to get home and. Um. Chew on some ice for a while.”

“Is that a euphemism?” she wants to know.

“Possibly,” he says. He kisses her on her temple. “I will see you tomorrow.”

“Love you,” she mumbles, awash in endorphins. The surprise of it wakes her up, but thinking about it, it’s not … not true. She's said it before, but she'd always meant it the way you say it to your best friend. She means something else entirely now. 

“Love you too,” he says. _Huh_.

She drifts off for half an hour after he leaves, but then wakes up mid way to stumbling to the bathroom because she has to pee something fierce.

*

They get very familiar with the guy with the afternoon shift at the Wawa.


End file.
